Insanity At Its Finest
by pugswanthugs
Summary: I heard a saying that life is a box of chocolates, and you never know what you're going to get. That saying has proven itself true several times over in my short lifetime, but it all began when I became a superhero and my life turned upside down.
1. Episode One

_**Insanity at Its Finest:**___**A story of love, loss, redemption and madness.**

_In an age of madness, to expect to be untouched by madness is a form of madness. But the pursuit of sanity can be a form of madness, too._

* * *

_Twinkle twinkle, little bat_

_Who could love a flying rat?_

_Up above your kind, so high_

_Little bat, prepare to die!_

_Now I'm done, but you are not-_

_Give my baby back or rot._

* * *

**Episode One**

"Please?" I asked again, following my dad into the study.

"No," he said, his answer as firm and unwavering as ever.

"I just got my second degree!" I showed him the stripe on my black belt. Alfred and I had just pulled into the garage when I saw dad waxing his black Audi. That's when I thought of using my new belt rank as an excuse to bring up being Batgirl again. I followed him to the study.

"I see." He smiled and hi-fived me. "I'm proud of you."

That was it. No _'I'll sleep on it,'_ no _'maybe.'_

Just, _'I'm proud of you.'_

_I see how it is._

"Fine," I walked away, my face burning. I forced my legs to carry me out of the cozy, bookshelf lined room.

"Maybe next year," I heard him say.

_'Maybe next year.'_ He had used that same exact phrase when responding to my last attempt at taking up the mantle, which was on my last birthday... and the time before that, which was the birthday before last. For years, it had seemed to be the only response he can muster.

"You have _got_ to be kidding me!" I yelled in frustration.

I heard the newspaper crinkle and the soft complaints of the chair as my dad got to his feet in surprise.

"Clara," he began.

"Don't _'Clara'_ me! Just let me go out with you!"

"Honey, you know I can't let you do that."

"What can I do, then? Spend fifteen years training six days a week, earn two black belts, and _still _not be able to go out?"

"Clara-"

The door opened, to my left and dad's right, and my mother appeared. The hearth to my right crackled as a log shifted.

Her green eyes shined in the firelight, and the tense mood faltered slightly.

"What's going on?" she asked.

Har and dad's blue eyes met, and for a second the air stilled as Mom padded between the two of us. Putting a hand on his chest, my father relaxed. His weight retreated to his midfoot, and his almost inhuman glare, reserved for the foulest of criminals, reverted to his casual-yet-watchful gaze. Mom glanced between us carefully, backing away slightly. She remained wordless, but I was incredibly aware, through her half-apprehensive, half-expectant look and not-quite-relaxed posture, that she could pounce and intercept anything that got out of hand. She'd always been pretty good at defusing the conflict in the room, and had a lot of experience in doing so.

_I remember fighting once with Damian, my half-brother, over one of my dad's old capes when we were very young. I wanted it to play dress up with, but my brother was cold and wanted to take a nap. We both pulled with all our might, but eventually Damian got bored and let go of the cape. I went flying and hit my head against the carpet. I was fine after five minutes of crying, but my dad wasn't happy and we both lost our cookie rights that night after dinner.  
_  
Today was no different. Just like then, I was in another high-tension situation. Luckily this time, while I was fighting with Dad, I had Mom in my corner. However, as my father relaxed, my resolve to act mature slipped. Before I could catch myself, I heard the words come out:

"This isn't fair!"

"Clarabel," Mom moved to rebuke. I knew that my plan to act like an adult had just gone out the window, so the best I could do is stick to my guns.

"I've been trying to prove myself to you for years! I've got not one, but two black belts! I'm at the top of my freshman class! _And_ I've got my junior pilot's license! What else can I do?!"

I knew that came out more harshly than planned, but was too irritated to care.

I swear I saw my father wince.

"Clara, if I ever lost you..."

"Dad, it's been three years, and you still won't let me be Batgirl. I just want to help people and make you proud, but you won't let me!"

He sighed and pulled me into a tight embrace.

"I'm already proud of you, Clara. I always have been."

I hugged him back, but didn't let my attention be diverted by his loving action.

"So can I be Batgirl?"

I waited tensely as he thought silently for a moment. Finally, he said, "I'll think about it."

I looked up, momentary disbelief evident on my face. I disappeared quickly as comprehension hit me, the foreign words singing in my ears.

"Thank you, daddy! Thank-you-thank-you-thank-you-thank-you!"

He chuckled softly. "I love you," he responded simply.

"Love you too!" I was too giddy to say anything else, so I let go and ran to my room. I grabbed the sketchbook on my desk and flipped to my Bat-suit designs. For the rest of the night, I reveled in my glory and decided what shade of pink I wanted to accent the lamp-black of my Batgirl look.

* * *

My head was laying on the sketchbook as I began to nod off, an hour of joyous planning behind me. My grandmother's off-white antique clock, which hid in its gears a switch that gave way to a chute bringing one to the Cave, chimed six as I nearly fell off my bed from the rude awakening. I never dozed off- what was causing my strange behavior today? I shook my head and grabbed my hairbrush. As per every night at six, the door opened.

"Hey," Mom said.

Strange. Mom almost never called me for dinner; usually Alfred stopped by.

"Hey," I responded. I made a displeased face as my golden locks refused to unknot.

"I gotcha," she smirked and took the brush out of my hands.

"Um, no offense, but why are you here?"

"None taken. I know, Alfred usually calls you down around now, but I wanted to see if you were okay,"

"Why wouldn't I be?" I questioned, raising my eyebrow slightly in thought as I mentally rewound my day.

"Oh," I concluded before she could respond. "Mine and Dad's fight.."

"I was just wondering if you were feeling... ignored."

For a brief moment her light blue eyes met my green ones. Mom quickly averted her eyes to studying the floor and I felt her hand falter.

"No, no mom; you and Dad are the best parents anyone could ever have asked for," I consoled.

She sat on the bed and I followed suit next to her.

"You know we love you right?" she asked quickly, looking at me again.

"Of course!" I said, startled. Whose parents wouldn't love their own children?

"I know that lately, with your father's aversions of you being Batgirl, you might feel a little shot-down, but he loves you. He just doesn't want to see you get hurt. The last Batgirl..."

I had a sudden image of Aunt Babs in her chair, and shuddered slightly. The idea of how easily one could go from the peak of their abilities to a lifetime of confinement scared me, though I would never admit it. What was worse was how that anxiety was all driven by one clown.

"Anyways," Mom veered from the depressing subject, "I just wanted to make sure you know that we love you; Batgirl or just plain ol' Clarabel Wayne. Either way, you're ours forever and always, no matter what."

"I know..." I looked out the window at the stony gray clouds, lazily wafting towards the house. "I love you too," I whispered.

Mom gave me her signature half smile and walked to the door.

"Let's go. Alfred said he made your favorite tonight: lemon pepper chicken over wild rice."

"Sweet!" I grinned.

I followed her out of my room. As I passed my eggshell white desk, I couldn't help but smile softly at the picture of my entire family at the circus:

_I had insisted on going when I was about six. Dad was reluctant about it, due to a long history with clowns, but he caved after I begged... and begged… and begged. For weeks, really!_

_I remembered every sight and every smell of the small, family-run show. They didn't have many animals, except maybe a few trained dogs, nor many sideshows, but the part I would remember eternally was the acrobats. As the small six-year-old I once was, watching the performers soar was exhilarating. It looked so easy; almost lazy, really, as they flew through the, or rather their, air so effortlessly. I savored every breathless moment as the acrobats' hands were about to grab the trapeze, wondering if they were going to make it, or if they were going to fall. My tiny mind was boggled at the sight. Gripping Dad's hand a little tighter during that pivotal instant, I witnessed the blonde acrobat's hands grasp firmly around the trapeze handle. She perched onto her pedestal, pigtails bouncing. Turning around, she prepared to go again._

My thoughts were cut off by a soft voice. "Clara, you coming?"

My mom was leaning lightly on the banister of the top stair.

"Yeah, sorry."

* * *

Sooo," Damian drawled as he drove us to school in the red Beamer, "you're Batgirl now?"

"Basically." I replied. "Dad finally agreed to think about it the day I got my second degree black belt."

He turned to me, black hair looking slightly red in the reflection of the rising sun. One of his eyebrows raised.

"I'm happy for you and all, but why Batgirl?"

"What do you mean _'why'_?"

"Clara, think about it- you've got the opportunity to go out on the Gotham streets at night, and you just want to be Batgirl? Why not create your own mantle?"

"I guess that I never thought about things that way. I mean, my own superhero name could be cool, but wouldn't taking up Batgirl's role, you know, _avenge_ Aunt Babs?"

Damian snorted. "If you were a crippled ex-Batgirl, wouldn't it kind of suck to see someone running around in a costume that should've been yours?"

"Aunt Babs isn't like that," I argued. "She would be proud of me for continuing her legacy."

"You don't get the big picture," Damian pressed. "You have the choices that I or Richard never had. I could only be a Bat hero, as the only superhero parent figure I had was a Batman, but you have the choice: _Bat or Cat_?"

"... Cat?" I murmured, "It never crossed my mind."

He laughed. "How do you manage to be in Junior level classes while being a Freshman, but not see that sitting right in front of you?"

I flicked his ear, but not too hard because he was driving. I didn't feel like having him drive the rest of the way to Gotham High at 35 miles below the speed limit, which he would of course do just to annoy me. He didn't have to worry about being late, as he was a senior and he had a free first period. I, on the other hand, had to be in class in fifteen minutes.

We had a pointless argument over peanut butter's health benefits for the next ten minutes, while stuck in a traffic jam caused by a minor accident. We had been at a standstill for some time when I asked, "Would Dad be mad?"

"You mean if you took a Cat name instead of a Bat mantle? I mean, it's ultimately your decision. If he thinks you're ready to be a hero, then he probably has enough faith in you to let you pick your own name."

"But I don't wanna break his heart," I outwardly joked.

_I did enough of that the other night._

"So let him down easy," Damian shrugged. "Or have Selina tell him."

"Mom," I automatically corrected, "wouldn't let me just back out like that. She'd at least make me go with her."

"So do that. Have Selina there to back you up when you tell Dad. _'Hey, I'm not gonna be Batgirl. I'm gonna be something else instead because I want to be hipster,'_" He teased, bringing his pitch up to a girlish falsetto for the last part. I rolled my eyes.

"You have a good point," I admitted as we finally pulled into the Gotham High School parking lot.

"Have fun in pre-calc," he snickered.

"At least I don't have to cram for an AP bio exam," I smirked and walked towards the door.

He laughed I pushed open the school's front doors, hearing the ordinary screech of tires as he sped away on an ordinary day.

* * *

It was past eight as I double-checked my supplies and shut my locker. My friend Tandy appeared, smirking at my lateness. With a slim build from figure skating, golden skin, curly brown hair paired with chocolate eyes, she easily contrasted my porcelain skin, bright green eyes, platinum hair and athletic figure that I had gained from training with my Dad the Batman. The bell for first period rang at 8:10, but I usually was in my desk by eight o'clock sharp; training with Dad would either end with a sense of punctuality or a sense of exhaustion from the extra laps around the manor that you had to run for every minute you were late.

"Wow, Clara, its past eight! It must have been a pretty killer party for two whole minutes!" She laughed as we strolled towards the math hall.

"You're just jealous that I was invited and you weren't," I shot back sarcastically. Tandy elbowed me in the side as we took our seats.

Pre-calc was relatively uneventful, aside from a small pop quiz that I scored 100 percent on after we trade-and-graded.

Second period was my favorite class and elective: psychology. That day we had a new substitute teacher who managed to rock a silky muave shirt, a half-grown beard, and a fir colored bowler that.

The bell rang, but it took about five minutes for the substitute to finish reading our normal teacher's packet of lesson plans and promptly toss them in the air. He leaned forward and met my eyes with his shiny emerald ones.

"Okay, kiddos. Call me Mr. Jack! Today we have a very interesting lesson that your teacher, Mr.-?" he paused, not knowing the usual instructor's name.

"-Gordon." I assisted, glancing towards Tandy.

"-Right! Mr. Gordon has planned for you. Grab your stuff, follow me and buckle up kids!" The sub jumped out of his chair, and sauntered out the door on a pair of long, spindly legs. The class nearly had to jog to follow his quick pace. He hummed lightly as we stepped onto the gymnasium floor. I eyed a rack of bright ruby colored dodgeballs on the center line of the court.

"Okay, gather round, and don't look so glum!" We all assembled in a semicircle around the sub and the rack of dodgeballs. "Today I have been instructed to teach you about human instincts. You, on this side! You, that side!"

Mr. Jack continued to separate us onto opposing sides of the court and then began chucking balls to us.

"Mr. Jack? Are you sure Mr. Gordon wanted us to be here? He said today would be a study hall, and I really have an American History test to study for..." A classmate inquired.

The sub whirled around suddenly, leaning towards the student with a look of carefully composed cheerfulness on his face. "What's your name, again, kid?"

The kid looked slightly nervous, and replied, "B-brandon."

"Well, Brandon, I very carefully reviewed Mr. Gabriel's-"

"Gordon's," Brandon corrected as Mr. Jack's smile only widened.

"-notes and I am simply doing what he asked: to instruct you about the principles of human nature and survival. We wouldn't want to have a problem, would we?" The sub had a dangerously happy look on his face, and chuckled.

"N-no sir."

"_Fannn_tastic! Okay, kids, listen up! You have one goal: to take out the other team! Regular dodgeball rules apply, and the team left standing will receive a passing grade for the day while the losing team will not. Hands on the wall!"

_Losing a game of dodgeball means an F for the day? _I thought. _Seems kind of ridiculous, but I'm not ruining grades over a crazy sub's lesson…_ _game on!_

"Ready," Mr. Jack called, "Steady, SNOW!"

A few kids rushed forward until he pulled out a bright green whistle and blew it so loudly that I had to clap my hands over my ears.

"Now, now, students," Mr. Jack got out through fits of laughter, "Listen carefully! I did not say go!"

After a few moments, he contained himself to a giggles and managed, "Take two! Ready, steady, GO!"

Most of my teammates went straight for the balls, but I hung back, and let the other kids fight it out until the competition was thinned out. There were five of us and six of them. I managed to jump over a few kids' throws and grabbed a ball that bounced off the back wall and towards my direction. Dodging another dodgeball, I nailed a kid twice my size in the chest. To my left, a teammate got hit in the leg and was sent out; four to five.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Tandy swerve out of the way of Brandon's throw, which was so hard that it could've taken off her head. She scowled as I ducked under another throw. I hit a second opponent, this time in the arm, and avoided a cheap shot to my feet. Luckily, I caught the cheap thrower's next attack and it was then four to three, with our team having the majority of players.

Tandy was holding her own, and got a direct hit on a girl with a bright red ponytail. A teammate got hit in the leg as I hit another enemy player in the shoulder. I jumped over a knee high throw and before I could throw, immediately had to roll underneath someone's chest-high pitch that whizzed over me. I planted my feet on the ground and hit the thrower straight in the goods. I smirked and noted the loss of another player on our team. That meant it was us versus Brandon. I twisted under his desperate, final stand, and watched Tandy hit Brandon's arm so hard with the red round ball that his ball in his hand escaped and fell to the ground. I whooped and high fived my best friend while our team cheered.

"Excellent! Okay, kids, let the lesson begin!"

"I thought that was the lesson," Brandon scowled, apparently ticked from losing to a bunch of girls.

Mr. Jack was in front of him before the word 'lesson' had escaped his lips, grinning ear to ear, but giving him a look that meant far from what his smile conveyed. "Listen, Brandon, I know you're eager to learn, but it's imperative that you let me do my job. You wouldn't want to get in my way, would you?"

Brandon went white, and I almost pitied him, "S-sorry."

"Now, I need to implement a small rule amendment. The remaining players will now separate from their teams! Remember, my young pupils- the winner gets _A_ good grade!" he chuckled and blew his whistle to resume the game.

Before I registered what I was doing, I had thrown the ball and hit my friend in the back. She narrowed her eyes at me in shock and disappointment while Mr. Jack gleefully blew his whistle and motioned for us to sit on the bleachers with him and the rest of the class. On the way over I turned to Tandy, but she kept her eyes straight ahead and narrowed.

When we finally got there, I began, "Tandy, I-"

"Excellent experiment, children! What have we learned today?" There was silence; no student was eager to talk to him after he flipped out on Brandon.

"Seriously, kids? No one has any idea about the point of today's lesson?"

After there was more silence, I uncomfortably fidgeted in my seat. He snapped his gaze towards me, and smiled casually. This time, there was not the fury that Mr. Jack had held for Brandon. There was something else between smugness and pride that I could not place exactly.

I gulped and he asked, "You! What did you learn today about human instinct for survival?"

"Um..." I scrambled mentally for a moment. "Everyone ultimately lives for one belief or another, and will die trying to support those beliefs."

My well-trained answer came out more like a question, and Mr. Jack noticed, giggling.

"That's close, but not the cigar we're looking for," he reached into his pocket, pulled out a small green box, opened it and offered me a small white cylindrical thing.

I looked at it blankly and he facepalmed, "Come on, kid, you're killing my schtick! It's a _candy cigar_!"

I grabbed it quickly, and he continued, never breaking eye contact. "Anyways, younglings, today's lesson was to teach you that all humans will try in vain to claim loyalty to something: family, friends, religion, anything really, but if placed in an environment where survival is on the line, they will fight for only one thing- but _what is it?_."

There was a moment of silence, Mr. Jack had still not left my gaze and things were getting awkward.

"Think about it," he commanded softly his smile only getting bigger.

Standing up, I grabbed my stuff and walked towards the door. As if shaken from a trance, the other classmates followed me and we congregated near the gym exit. Tandy hadn't looked at me since the end of dodgeball, and stood at the other side of the blob of students. In my peripheral vision, I saw Mr. Jack ambling towards the emergency exit, waving over his shoulder.

"Stay sharp, kid!" He laughed as he kicked the door open and sauntered out into the streets of Gotham. As the door _whooshed _shut, I realized that there were still twenty minutes left in class.

_What the heck?_


	2. Episode Two

The rest of the school day went by quickly, except for the silent treatment my best friend gave me. After several half-hearted apology attempts about the dodgeball debacle, I gave up and let her mope on her own. By the time my final period, which happened to be English, ended, I was itching to get out of the building. The awkward tension between me and my friend had really gotten out of hand. I left the school through the same way I came in, and met my brother by his car in the student lot.

"How'd the test go?" I asked.

"Let's just say that it wasn't an F, but it definitely wasn't an A either." Damy said sheepishly.

"Oooh, Dad's gonna ground youuu!" I warned him. All of us were expected to do well in school, and any grade less than an A was usually grounds to give the offender extra chores- lots of extra chores, to be exact.

"Don't worry, I have a plan," Damian turned the ignition and we started out of the lot. "There's extra credit Ms. Green is offering. All I have to do is some project where I design a compound that will enhance plant growth. If I get all the points for it, my grades will be all evened out."

"And you think Dad still won't ground you?" I deepened my voice in imitation of my father, "Damian, you are a young adult and should not need extra credit to replace a good mark in school."

"Crap, he is Dad…" He swore as we passed into uptown Gotham.

"Don't worry, brother. When you go mad after breathing all the toilet cleaning solution, I'll make sure you have a cell in Arkham with a nice view." I smiled innocently.

"Well, sister, when I'm committed I'll make sure to drag you in with me." He smirked as our house came into view.

A shadow passed over our car as it started to rain, and Damian hit the windshield wiper button. We let the downpour do the talking for us as we pulled into the garage and exited the Beamer. I swung the door open and almost bumped into Alfred, whose eyebrows were knit together in either deep thought, concentration, or constipation. I hoped that it wasn't the third.

"Young Mister and Mistress Wayne, I believe your presence is needed in the den." he said, recovering from our near collision. His gaze momentarily flickered towards our kitchen, where I noted an unfamiliar body sat at the table.

"Okay, thanks Alfred." Damy responded smoothly. We dropped our bags and casual attitudes while slowly moving towards the coatroom. Shutting the door behind me, I reached for the hatrack and gave a slight tug on its permanent installation: a Yankees baseball hat.

There was a slight whirring, and the false wall behind the family's ski jackets disappeared, revealing a set of matte-black spiral stairs that led to the family's regular meeting place.

We descended quickly, and were greeted by the familiar sight of the _den_.

* * *

_**Doctor Louis Aphsalot's Personal Tape Recorder**_

_Aphsalot: Date: September 24. Patient last name Wayne._

_*slight shuffling of chairs, a clank of handcuffs being secured*_

_Aphsalot: Hello, my name is Dr. Louis Aphsalot. I will be your therapist during your time here at Arkham._

_*static lasting about five minutes*_

_Wayne: You know what, doc?_

_Aphsalot: What?_

_Wayne:When I was five, I was playing hide and seek with my older brother Richard. Old Dicky, well... he was it and I was hiding, and trust me, I'm good at hiding. Anyways, I was looking for a good spot and I snuck into Ricky's room. You'd never guess what happened!"_

_*static*_

_Wayne: Well, aren't you going to guess? I'll give you a hint: I found something crazy when I went into his closet._

_Aphsalot: (slightly exasperated) I'm no good at guessing. What did you find?_

_Wayne: Hmmph. And to think I thought we'd have _fun_ together. Anyways, I hid behind all of the clothes hanging on his closet-rack and fell into a _hole_! Who the heck puts a hole in the back of your closet?! I mean, talk about rude!_

_Aphsalot: That sounds like quite the unpleasant surprise_

_Wayne: Yeah, that was certainly _unpleasant_.. and you weren't even the one who landed in a giant secret lair!_

_Aphsalot: That sounds terrifying! How did you feel when that happened?_

_Wayne: How do you _think_ I felt?! I was pretty darn confused! Imagine this: you're just a tyke, just trying to have an innocent game of hide and go seek when you find the perfect hiding spot and bam!- You're in the middle of some dark, creepy cave!_

_Aphsalot: Point taken. So, you were scared?_

_Wayne: I guess I might've been scared, if I hadn't almost immediately found my mother in said dark creepy cave. If anything, I was just more confused than ever when I saw her._

_Aphsalot: What happened when you saw your mother?_

_Wayne: Well, I asked her where the heck I was, _duh_. Gosh, Doc, you are not very bright for a guy with a Ph. D._

_Aphsalot: I was asking because I didn't think your answer would be a generic, run-of-the mill "I got scared and started crying," response._

_Wayne: Wow, I'm flattered. Maybe you aren't as bad a shrink as my folks said you were._

_Aphsalot: Time will have to tell, but for now-_

_Wayne: Why do you stay?_

_Aphsalot: You mean here, at Arkham?_

_Wayne: Of all the places in the world, you stay at the biggest and baddest nuthouse in the city. I'm sure people are begging for you to work for them in plenty of posh rehab spots, like _Royal Pains_! Why haven't you packed up and left?_

_Aphsalot: *static*_

_Wayne: Surely it wasn't because of little old _me_...?_

_Aphsalot: I think that's enough for today._

_Wayne: You haven't answered my question- that's not fair!_

_Aphsalot: Guard, escort this patient back to her confinements._

_*a scuffling noise, several yells*_

_Wayne: Don't think that locking me away will change the way you feel, Doc! Don't fight the madness! Trust me, the grass is way greener on my side of the fence!_

_*Mad laughter fades into static*_

_Aphsalot: Patient… patient has made no sign of rehabilitation. More sessions necessary for further data on mental condition._

* * *

Damian and I briskly moved from the Trophy Room to the Communications Hub. Dad and Mom, in uniform, were speaking, heads together, in hushed and worried voices. To their left, Nightwing (who may or may not have been my other brother, Tim) was studying the 3D Console's recreation of Gotham City. To Gotham's left hovered a holographic replica of Arkham Asylum. Dad noticed our appearance, and turned towards us.

"Warden Sharp sent us a distress message a half hour ago. The Joker has escaped from the asylum."

Damy sighed softly next to me. "It's about time."

The Joker had been awfully quiet for the past year, not even attempting any escapes, and not starting any riots on the inside of the penitentiary. It was only a matter of time before this happened.

"I guess I won't have to worry about that bio exam grade after all," he murmured softly as Dad led us to the screen.

Dad reached and performed a few gestures on the device, and pulled up a video chat with the Warden's face on it. Before Dad activated the video and speech settings on our console, he spoke over his shoulder. "You're not in costume, so make sure you're out of the camera's view. And don't worry, son. I'll take care of that once the Joker's back behind bars."

As Dad tinkered with the settings on our video chat, I whispered to my brother, smirking. "Told you so."

A small sound emitted from our speaker system, notifying us that our microphone was on.

"Talk," Batman commanded the warden.

"This morning a guard went to check on the Joker because he had not gotten out of his bed for several days. When the blankets were ripped from the Joker's sleeping form, a corpse of a missing Sentry was found. His hair was dyed green, and a smile was carved in his face." Sharp paused and looked away bitterly, "Doctors estimate that the corpse is at least two to three days old."

"Do you have anything on the Joker's trail?"

"No. The asylum is on lockdown until we've…" Dad flicked off the video chat and turned towards us as soon as he had his answer.

"Gotham isn't safe with the Joker running free. We should go to Arkham to check the forensics of the crime scene. Richard, you're with me. Selina, can you take Damian and start cataloguing the city for the clown?"

Mom grabbed her goggles, and smirked, "I thought you'd never ask."

As my siblings and parents gathered their implements, I was left standing awkwardly.

"Dad?" I asked, just before Dad started for the Batmobile. "What do I do?"

He paused, as if contemplating, and shared a long look with my mom. After a wordless conversation, he turned to me. "Well, someone has to keep the streets of Gotham safe tonight."

"Okay, I understand," I sighed automatically. "Keep Oracle company— wait what!?"

"Suit up, Clara. The people of Gotham need you. They need us."

* * *

When I had dreamt of joining my father's side in the fight for Arkham's safety, I had imagined dark, adventure-filled nights I would spend fighting crime as being…. well... _adventurous_. However, several hours later, after donning my Aunt Barbara's old Batgirl costume (which I had to use until I could talk to my father about a costume change) I had discovered that I was completely and utterly bored. I had grappled past everything from dark alleyways to abandoned parking lots to shady looking cars, only to find that the most intense situation I witnessed ended up being an exchange in (short) rent money between a tenant and a landlord. Needless to say, my expectations of a glorious nightlife had been usurped by an evening of fruitless exploration. Around two A.M., I contacted Oracle through my earpiece.

"Hey, Oracle." I sighed, making sure to use our cover names in case the bluetooth communications were being tapped into.

"How's the crime fighting going?" My aunt responded. I could hear the smirk in her voice, confident in the boredom she knew I was experiencing.

"Well, let's just say that Gotham is safe for now. Are Batman and Catwoman okay?"

"They're fine. Batman is interrogating some thugs in Arkham right now with Nightwing and Robin," she responded as I heard a tick-tack of keys in the background, "and Catwoman is at the Bowery following a lead that she found when tracking the Joker."

"I thought Robin was supposed to be with Mom."

"Robin, while more than proficient in combat and an excellent crimefighter, is not as good at tracking as your mother. Batman needed him to come to Arkham to help suppress a riot."

I frowned, crossing onto a middle class apartment rooftop in a shadier area of the city.

"I could've helped,"

Static buzzed as Oracle sighed, replying, "Batman knows what he's doing. I'm sure he wants to give you a shot to learn the ins and outs of the family business before throwing you into a real-world situation."

"I thought that's why I've been training for all these years!"

"When you're training, you learn fundamental combat skills, but when you're in an actual scenario like a bank robbery, the primary thing you have to rely on is experience. Seeing that you currently have none, Batman is probably trying to build up your street smarts."

I was about to retort as I heard a nearby howl and several screams.

"Oracle, I've gotta go!"

"Be safe!" Aunt Babs cautioned, and I heard the communication line go silent.

I stealthily moved towards the sound, which only became louder and more feral as I got closer. On the sidewalk of Peter's Pets (a small chain pet shop carrying pet supplies and the like) three large men, wearing clown masks and carrying large firearms, were leaning on the building, talking.

"…. I can't _stand_ that bitch," one in a black sweatshirt swore. "She's always talking in that dreadful voice about her_ Mistah J Puddin' Pop_." Big Ugly Number One's voice contorted to an octave that did not complement his figure.

Big Ugly Number Two, wearing cargo pants with a long-sleeve, grey crew-neck chuckled. "Who can? Harley Quinn's the most nutty, naggy, and downright _obnoxious_ slut that the Joker could ever pick as a girlfriend. I mean, why would a supervillain like him, who could easily drive any lady in Gotham insane, choose that dumb blonde as his girlfriend?"

Big Ugly Number Three cracked his neck and said, "I have no clue, but there's not much we can do about her- unless, that is, you have a death wish. _No one_ crosses that crazy chick." As the speaker yawned, I heard another bout of hysterical howling from inside the shop, hungrier than the first two combined, followed by sick, high pitched laughter, and decided that it was time to cut off whatever was going on.

Appearing from around the corner, I pulled out a batarang and threw it at Big Ugly Number One's trigger arm. In my over-inflated confidence, perhaps trying to compensate for my inner naivety, it missed and hit the glass to the left of my target.

"Crap," I whispered to myself, as the three henchmen turned to me with their weapons pointed.

"Look, Ronnie," Big Ugly Number Three laughed, "It's _Batgirl_!"

"Yeah," Big Ugly Number Two smirked, failing to realize that I was not simply a Batgirl _fan_ as he released the safety on his AK-47. "Wouldn't you think to practice before you try to use one of those things on a real target?"

Big Ugly Number One, foolishly ignoring me as a threat along with his friends, chuckled, reaching down to grab the Batarang that I had missed him with. I took that precious time window to grapple up to the top of the one-story building, which desperately needed a power wash.

"I think I'll take this one home as a trophy," Big Ugly Number One said from below me, failing to notice my disappearance.

"The Batarang, or the girl?" Big Ugly Numbers Two and Three shook with laughter, and in pure rage at the implication that Number One had just made, I dropped onto him like a rabid spider.

"Hey!" He struggled, trying to breathe as I used him as a human shield and put him in a sleeper hold at the same time,

"No one ever messes with Batgirl," I whispered in his ear, before he passed out. Since Big Ugly Number One could not support himself anymore, I had no choice but to drop him and throw a smoke bomb, narrowly dodging several bullets that whizzed past my ear. I guess this is what Aunt Babs said about _real-world experience_, I thought as I frantically rushed Big Ugly Number Two, who was still coughing from the smoke. With a sharp kick to the kneecap, he dropped it like it was hot; I managed to stomp on his gun arm before I turned toward Big Ugly Number Three.

I'm not entirely sure what happened after that, but I remember lots and _lots_ of gunfire, a sharp pain in my upper right bicep, and seeing red. The next thing I knew, Number Three was face first on the ground, and I was smashing his teeth into the pavement. Taking care to kick the thugs' guns away from their owners, I turned my attention to the screams coming from inside the Peter's Pets.

* * *

The henchmen were completely right. I had heard stories of the Joker's follower Harley Quinn, and had always pinned her as a fruity loop, but the atrocity I witnessed inside the Peter's Pets blew my opinion of her out of the water. Perhaps it was the two hyenas, which she had on leashes, tearing away at what looked like a human leg. Perhaps it was the fact that there were several bloody, grisly looking bones next to the hyenas and the harlequin. It was probably a combination of the two, but realizing that my entrance had been duly noted by said fruit loop, I didn't have time to decide on the answer.

"Wow," a high, New Jersey accent scraped my eardrums as she spoke, "It's been awhile since I beat up a _Batbitch_. Thought the last one would be a good enough example of what happens when you mess with me and Mistah J!"

I ignored the stab at Oracle, and childishly sassed her back, "I believe that it's _Mistah J and me_," I raised my voice towards the end, replicating the voice that Big Ugly Number One had used a moment ago when gossiping about the same exact rogue.

Before I could smirk behind my domino mask, Harley's foot was flying towards my face. Reflexively, I grabbed it and turned, harshly flinging the foot and its owner into the wall and the small crowd of huddling hostages that were sitting against the wall. I cringed behind my domino mask; things were definitely off to a bumpy start.

I heard a high pitched sound of frustration from Quinn as she disentangled herself from the terrified captives, and then, "Ow! Get off of me- Bud, Lou, _attack_!"

Originally facing the Harlequin and her hostages, I slowly turned to see two irritated hyenas, covered in blood and annoyed at having their meal time interrupted by little old me.

_Great, now I have two dogs in front of me, and one to my back,_ I thought, and briefly considered voicing my joke before I remembered that all three dogs were trying to kill me. The smirk on my face was wiped off as the hyena on the left lunged at my legs. I jumped reflexively, and then dodged a hammer swipe to my rear that I barely saw in my peripheral vision.

_Hey, it's just like dodgeball,_ I talked myself through the situation, which was rather foolish because I should've been concentrating on the fight itself. In the time I could get that thought out, my cape was grabbed by a pair of teeth. Struggling to keep myself upright, I dodged a crazy lady's frenzy of hammer assaults, and struggled to fend myself from another feral anima. I blindly reached into my utility belt for another batarang. I had learned from my mistake outside the pet shop; this time I would not miss. I released my throw, hitting the hyena that was attached to my cape in the side. It yelped and released my cape, limping towards the back of the store with its tail between its legs, but the fight was far from over.

"My baby!" Harley screeched, and flew at me. She managed to get in a solid uppercut before I noticed the other dog, Lou I think, preparing to pounce to my right.

The idea came to me and my body responded to it so quickly that it was done before I even processed it fully in my brain. Time slowed down as I grabbed the Harlequin by the hair, yanked her to the right, and witnessed Lou in midair moving towards the meat shield I had just created. As time kicked back into gear, I heard a sloshy crunch as the hyena bit Harley in the back of the calf, and the clown crumpled.

"Ow!" she screamed, "You _bitch_! Lou- _no biting_!"

I briefly considered that the said hyena might attack until I saw it slowly backing away towards its whimpering companion.

I guess Big Ugly Number Three was right, I thought. Not even her own babies can cross that wacko.

Once I briefly scanning the area for other threats, I checked Harley for any weapons. After confiscating several knives, a sawed off shotgun, a hammer and a rubber chicken, she was finally empty handed. I released the gaggle of terrified hostages, which included a new widow and her children, and could finally call the police and interrogate Quinn.

Turning slightly away, but still being at an angle where I could watch Quinn, I filled Oracle in on what had passed, and asked for a patch-through to the Gotham PD's radio communications.

"Not bad, Batgirl," Oracle congratulated, but then the rhythmic tick-tack of her keys faltered. "I'm getting a negative read from the arm of your suit. Are you hurt?"

"Probably. I'll check once I get through to the GPD. Thanks," I murmured tiredly, feeling pain and exhaustion creeping in to replace my adrenaline as I heard the radio click slightly, and then heard the sounds of an ordinary police radio. As ordinary as one can get in a town like this, I corrected privately, but quickly got to business.

"Attention all units, this is Batgirl at Peter's Pets in lower Gotham. I have apprehended Harley Quinn and her, erm, two hyenas. Hostages have been secured, but several have not survived."

"All units available are on their way," I heard the dispatcher respond, and then, "Thank you, Batgirl."

I smiled slightly as I heard the earpiece being disconnected from the GPD's communications, but then scowled as I realized that I still needed to interrogate the Clown Princess of Crime before she went back to Arkham.

"What do you want?" Harley sniffled as she attempted to slow her bleeding bite wound with a large-sized dog parka I had thrown her.

"For what reason did you and the clown escape this time?" I questioned, sounding more serious than a teenage girl ever should.

"Why do you care? All's you and Batsy want to do is to throw us back into Arkham. I mean, come on now B, it's a nice vacation but duty calls. Gotham needs us," she replied, speaking earnestly of her obligation to terrorize the city.

"Why. Did. You. And. The. Clown. Escape?" I repeated, sounding somehow more grave than before. However, the Harlequin was unfazed by the gravity of my question, and sighed.

"Such a nosey brat, huh? Well, since I've got nothing else to do I'll tell ya'. Two Face, Scarecrow, and the Hatter have been real salty lately, ever since Penguin bought out the head guard in the penitentiary so that he could smuggle guns in and out of the asylum. We didn't want to get in the middle of the conflict, seeing as we have a large and very important party to attend soon and don't want to be in solitary 'cause of a stupid riot. Can you blame a gal for trying to stay out of trouble?"

"A riot? What party?" I pressed, noticing the wail of sirens over the sniveling of the freed hostages behind me. I supposed that Harley did too, since she perked up and spoke, "Well, it looks like the blues are here. Thanks for power-lunchin' with me and the pups. I'll be talkin' to you later then, B!"

In my confusion towards the term "power-lunchin'" being used moments before crack of dawn, Harley took the opportunity to snatch a femur from a horrid pile that was once a man. Before I could react, I heard and felt a painful thump on the side of my head, and things began to fade.

Before everything turned to black, I saw Harley standing over me, with a pathetic looking duo of hyenas limping behind her on their ragged leashes.

"Nice seein' ya'!" she screeched, and then sharply kicked me in the face.

_So much for experience,_ I thought glumly as I blacked out.


	3. Episode Three

**Episode Three**

* * *

My first night out had been weird; even more so than I expected. But the real surprise was my first _morning, _when I was awakened when I felt myself moving forward. My eyes shot open as I reached for a batarang instinctively, but stopped when I realized through blurry, concussed vision that I was in the Batmobile.

"Where's Quinn?" I asked my father, who was driving at triple digit speeds towards the manor.

"Holed up with the Joker at their factory hideout. I need to get there ASAP."

"Then why are we going home?" I asked, puzzled.

"There's the matter of the gun smuggling at Arkham. Also, this... _surprise _that the clown is planning. I don't like the sound of it, and I need someone to go in and get more intel on it."

"So… you want me to go to Arkham undercover?" I clarified, slowly putting two and two together, on one hand thrilled at the opportunity of a real mission and on the other terrified of dying in a building full of insane murderers.

"Unfortunately," my father sighed and I became a bit miffed. "Yes. I need Richard and Damien here to take care of the mayhem from Killer Croc's clones, and Tim is at the Justice League."

"What's wrong with me going?" I sassed, as we screamed through the Wayne Manor's back gate.

"Clara, you've never met the Joker. He can drive a man mad with the least of efforts. That's not an enemy I want you handling," his voice dropped to a low murmur at the end, as he solemnly reflected on Jason. Resisting the temptation to pursue the argument of my crime-fighting capabilities, I changed the subject.

"Alright, so I'm going undercover. Don't I need an alias?"

As we slowed down and pulled into the sewage entrance to the cave, dad replied. "Your mother is taking care of that right now. But first, you need to see Alfred about that concussion."

The car engine shut off as the passenger side door flipped up, and I nearly fell on my face trying to exit the vehicle. Luckily, Dad caught me and assisted me to the medical bay on the lower level of the cave.

* * *

"Well, Mistress Wayne, I assume that you've finally become familiar with Harley Quinn." Alfred chuckled slightly as he examined the large dent in my skull.

"Those guys were right, she really is a bi-"

"Language," my mother chided softly as she swept into the room, a manilla folder in her hand. "I did not raise wolves,"

Glancing pointedly at Dad, whose sons Tim, Damian, and Richard had been known for their bad language, Mom opened the folder and skimmed it for a moment, and read aloud,

"Alright, Clara, listen carefully. These are the details about the alias you'll be using for your stay in the Asylum. Your name is now Clarrise Wagner, and you're a 15 year old Jump City dropout. You have split personality disorder, one side being you, as your current self, and the other side being Zero, a sociopath and kleptomaniac. You were caught trying to break into the Wayne Manor and sent to Arkham after you tried to kill the butler."

I listened intently as she went on with the details of my made-up family and residency, focusing through my headache. As she was passing through my basic medical info, she cut off and turned to Dad. "Bruce, are you sure she's ready for this?"

Dad sighed and took off his cowl for a moment, wiping off his brow. "She'll have to be. I need the boys with me, and there's no way you'll fit in with the rogues anymore."

"I haven't gone _that _good," Mom huffed. "Maybe I should just go instead."

"Come on," I interjected their argument, "have a little faith in me-"

"There is no way that I'm letting that happen," my father said firmly, squaring off to mom.

"And who says you're the boss of me?" Mom crossed her arms, and leaned on the medical table I had started to sit up on.

"Selina, that's not what I meant to say," Dad pinched the bridge of his nose, as I looked between them nervously. If you thought me and my Dad's arguments could get bad, you hadn't _seen _my mom and him argue.

"Then what _did _you mean to say?" she pursed her lips. "That I'm too _old _to be doing missions like that? Last time I checked, you were no spring chicken yourself."

"Selina-"

"Hey!" I interjected, trying to stop them before they said anything they'd regret. "I'll be fine. Don't worry about me, I have a good brain on my shoulders and besides, it should only take what, a week?"

"A week, _max."_ Dad growled. "I don't want you in with those monsters for any longer than you have to be."

"Alright, so a week. I go in, get the smuggling ring intel, and then gather whatever I can about the 'party.'" I made air quotes around the word _party _as I forced myself onto my feet. The headache was slowly disappearing, and Alfred handed me a cold, blue, squishy ice pack that I immediately put on top of the knot on my scalp. "Sounds simple enough."

"Don't take this lightly, Clara," Dad cautioned. "If you blow your cover on this, who knows what any of those criminals would do if they found out there was a Wayne in the building."

"Hey," Mom considered, "let's send Oracle in too."

"Oracle," Dad repeated thoughtfully. "We could send her in as a therapist. Alfred, could you get Babs on the comms, please?"

Alfred strode to the communications interface, and pressed a few buttons. As he was dialing Aunt Babs, Mom continued. "Clara, sweetie. Look at me. I've been undercover a few times, and when I say a few I mean a lot. Listen, you _cannot _reveal your true identity to anyone. Not even your aunt. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, Mom," I sighed, resisting the will to roll my eyes. _They can give me _some _credit_.

"As long as you're sure," Mom said, smiling lightly and giving me a gentle kiss on the head. "Then go change into some street clothes, it's almost time. Your father will talk to your aunt, okay?"

I nodded, smiling back at her as I swallowed my well-hidden nervousness. "Okay Mom." Heading off, my smile quickly disappeared as I began to focus on getting into character. If everything went right, I'd be home in just a short week.

* * *

Before I knew it, I was in the back of the Batmobile, zipties chaffing my wrists underneath the old, thin long sleeve shirt I had found in the attic with all the other old clothes. Dad was silent, his hands gripping the wheel a bit harder than usual as we pulled into the "alternative" entrance to the penitentiary (also known as a secret tunnel that opened up to the outskirts of a forest about a half-mile from Arkham). We screeched to a halt, and I fidgeted uncomfortably as Dad walked around to the backseat passenger's side to open the door for me.

"Dad, I know you're worried about this, but I'll be fine. I've taken a few thugs down in my career." Smirking, I reminiscenced for a moment about "Big Uglies number One, Two and Three".

Dad replied, slightly ashamed, as I snapped out of my sentiments. "It's not that I don't think you can handle yourself. It's just… I'm afraid that this is a whole lot bigger than just a smuggling ring."

"Bigger?" I raised an eyebrow as he slowly walked me towards the lobby of the Asylum.

"I can't explain it; it's just a bad feeling," Dad trailed off as he reached for the doorknob.

"Well, I had a good teacher, so I'll be alright," I grinned, but quickly darkened my expression into a scowl as I met the bright, harsh lights of the Arkham Asylum.

* * *

The guard on duty (who had been falling asleep whilst reading a newspaper) was sitting next to a security camera feed on a small monitor. He quickly awoke and jumped to his feet at the sight of Dad, who had semi-politely slammed the door shut in order to wake the man. "B-Batman! I thought you were a myth… I-you-who-?"

Dad interrupted his stuttering, pushing me towards the counter. "Clarrise Wagner. She was in Wayne Manor trying to stab their butler."

With that, my father was gone with the soft breeze of a cape cooling my face the door clicked shut.

The guard quickly lumbered behind me, securing my zip ties with a pair of handcuffs. I was forced into a nearby cell, about 4 feet long and 3 feet wide. He locked the door with a small keycard and went back to his station.

"Why am I here?" I questioned as he began typing on his computer apathetically.

"Don't play dumb, kid. You've been booked before. Now shut up and let me work."

Huffing, I collapsed on the brown, sketchy-smelling cot, closing my eyes in an attempt to sleep. Before long I was hit by a sudden current of cold air as I heard door open. I was immediately on high alert, but kept my eyes closed so whoever had entered wouldn't notice I was awake. After a moment of what sounded like squawking, which was ended by a sharp _smack!, _I heard the scrape of a chair as the guard shot to his feet for the second time in one night.

"Hey, Vinny," said a high pitched, almost whiny voice. "Could you believe Batsy didn't even come to visit this time? He just sent his silly little birdbrained henchman to say hi! Vinny, do me a favor, would ya? Next time you see B-Man, you tell him-"

"S-shut it," Vinny uttered, a tremor apparent in his voice. "C-c-clown."

The ignored Vinny and continued... " he is _so _not on the guest list for the party!"

My eyes shot open as I realized who I was about to share a cell with.

* * *

_If you're reading this then you have a) found this on the recently updated list for Batman, or b) have been incredibly patient because this took way longer to update than I thought. If you are from option A, welcome to the crazy train! If you are from option B, thanks for being so patient, and there is more to come. I'd like to thank 3D Phantom for the great advice and editing. We've been giving my plot some serious consideration and am moving slowly and carefully because I want this story to be the __**best that it can be! **__That being said, it means a lot that y'all have been so patient._

_If you have any questions, shoot me a review or message, and it will be responded to in the next chapter's prologue._

_Until next Episode! Au revoir,_

_pugswanthugs_


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